For Sorrow, For Joy
by Sophia the Scribe
Summary: What is comfort without pain? What is happiness without hardship? What is life without the struggles it entails?


Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

 **For Sorrow, For Joy**

by Sophia the Scribe

* * *

The darkness swirled about him, moaning and crying with a dozen voices, grasping him with tentacled smoke that burned like cold iron as he shuddered in a paroxysm of grief and shrank from the surrounding savagery.

 _All is vain_ , the voices hissed, _and your life is in ruins. Your struggles will never be enough, your goals never fulfilled, your existence nothing more than endless striving for a hopeless destiny. Where is your strength now, naïve child, now that you are faced with real darkness? This is what you grasped: now struggle in it forever!_

His mind contracted, blocking what it could, but determined protests of _it is not useless! It is not hopeless! I have a purpose!_ were slowly overtaken by the panicked mantra of a terrified child crying _save me! save me! save me from this pain!_

And even as the tendrils of darkness continued to claw at his mind unrelentingly a mist of light began filtering, slowly but inexorably, through the lines of struggle and cruelty that bound him. They melted, falling as ash or drifting away as smoke, and the mist swirled in their place, calm, gentle, banishing the conflict to beyond its reaches. And, gratefully falling into the welcoming embrace, the boy, for a time, felt nothing more than comforting caresses, heard nothing more than liquid words to soothe his tattered mind.

* * *

The dark smoke swirled without, but the white mist was calm within. The sanctuary kept him safe, sheltered in a cocoon of relief and rest, soothing him with gentle words.

 _You are safe, you are welcome, you are wanted. I have found you, and I will never leave. Stay with me, my child, and I will comfort you forever. You will know happiness. You will know security. You will know peace. You need never go back there again._

 _Back where?_ he asked sluggishly. _There was only darkness and despair, and you saved me from it. I would never want to leave._

The mist danced in gentle laughter, and a tendril brushed over him in a diaphanous caress. _Of course not. That suffering is over, now, and that pain is ended. This dream will last forever, and you never need struggle again._

 _Dream?_ his mind inquired with slightly more energy. _This is not real?_

 _Real?_ the voice parroted mildly _, What is reality, but what we choose to experience? I can give you comfort and security, I can shield you forever from the unending toils and trials of your sorrow-filled life._

 _But…those trials made me who I am, didn't they? Do I have to lose myself to find rest?_

 _Lose yourself? Nay, dear child. You will be found, safe and cherished, forever. Why remember pains long and needlessly endured? Forget, and I will catch you, catch you, catch you…_

The voice trailed off, and a wave of blankness as fine as ocean mist swept over him, beginning to erase his pain, his trauma, his fruitless struggle…

 _No!_ the mind suddenly rebelled, casting helplessly about in the mist, trying to avoid the soothing stream of forgetfulness. _It is mine! It may be painful, but it is mine! You cannot have it!_

 _Oh, foolish boy_ , the mist lamented sadly, as if mourning one trapped in his own delusions and refusing to be set free. _Why choose sorrow when I can give happiness? Why choose pain when I can give comfort? Why choose struggle when I can give relief from all hardship?_

 _Because it is mine! It has made me who I am! What's life without struggle? Where's victory except in overcoming hardship? How is relief sweet, without the bitterness of trial before it? No! I will not stay here, you cannot make me!_

 _Make you? Have you not wished for this?_ the voice pled, trying to draw him back with gentle touches and sweet caresses. _Why would you face that darkness again, the darkness from which you cried to me for release? You cried, and I rescued you. Do you not see this is a chance for happiness, for peace, for light?_

 _Happiness?_ he scoffed, forcing his way through the cloying mist, trying to escape into the swirl of peril surrounding it. _Light? Keep your shallow happiness, keep your monotonous light! My darkness is strength and protection, acceptance and challenge, sorrow and real joy, real feeling, real life!_

 _Come back! Come back! Come back!_ the voice cried frantically, dragging at him with clammy fingers and vaporous touch.

 _No._ His mind reached, determined, and grasped at the first tendril of darkness it found. _You cannot have me._

Then the mist drew back, defeated, and the darkness surrounded him completely, laughing menacingly.

* * *

 _Ha!_ the darkness hissed, _We made you break, we made you flee, we made you cry for help like a babe. We can do it again, and now no help will come! We have you, and you will toil forever, caught in our nets. Did you not claim the darkness? Now it claims you!_

 _No! Never!_ he stubbornly snarled, fighting the smoky tentacles that sought to bind him. _You are not my darkness, I would never choose you. You are despair, but I have hope. You are fear, but I am not afraid!_

 _You are afraid!_ it countered, mocking. _You think your pitiful mentor knew the abyss? You think he taught you to stare unblinking into the void? Ha! This is the real darkness, and you will never escape._

 _This smoke is not the real darkness!_ he shouted, suddenly furious, raging wrathfully against the threads of despair that sought to bind him. _No more than that stupid mist was the real light! I know both, and I will not be trapped by your worthless imitation of either! Let…me…go!_

And with a final effort he tore free of the tentacles, and fell into oblivion.

* * *

 _Beep…beep…beep…_

He woke to a sound as far from whispered promises and hissed accusations as possible: the digital monotony of a heart monitor. Reassured, he opened his eyes.

They were met with darkness: familiar, shielding, protecting. The impenetrable ink of the deep caves. The sleek shine of the polished vehicles. The shadowy folds of a mentor's cape, draped over him in heavy reassurance.

He let out a long, slow breath. Perhaps tomorrow he would take an impromptu trip to Metropolis, bask for a moment in the hope that shone from a red-and-gold shield, feel the real comfort that real light could bring.

But for now he just turned on his side, pulling the cape closer around him and closing his eyes. Life awaited him with all its struggles and pain and toil, and he would me them and conquer them in their time; but this was his darkness, and for now, at least, he could rest.

Tim Drake slept.

* * *

"I didn't say it would be easy, Neo. I just said it would be the truth." –Morpheus, _The Matrix_

"Suppose we _have_ only dreamed, or made up, all those things—trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. The all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours _is_ the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one…I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia." –Puddleglum, _The Silver Chair_

"But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin." –John (the Savage), _Brave New World_


End file.
